


The Blue King

by lilfinch



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Oral, Paul Matthews F U C K S, Sex, Smut, hive!king paul, i can’t believe i gave into the urge to write hive king paul, imprisonment descriptions, infected!emma, infected!paul, post-canon take, royalty undertones because i am actually weak
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:41:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25605250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilfinch/pseuds/lilfinch
Summary: My take post-canon.Three days after Paul’s infection, and Emma has found herself his prisoner, locked away to rot in the hospital that had once promised her safety. When she is brought to Paul, however, she discovers that things have taken an interesting turn, and the new Hive King makes an offer she just can’t refuse.
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 16
Kudos: 40





	The Blue King

**Author's Note:**

> I’m literally weak wtf who let me do this
> 
> Cursed Chat better appreciate this it was your guys’ influence that gave me the idea
> 
> Also thanks to my friend Sofia (tumblr @agent-megagirl) for the moral support <3

Emma Perkins did not cry often, but it was hard to deny the hot tears that pricked in the corners of her eyes as she was dragged down the long halls of The Starlight.

Her toes dug rebelliously into the blue-stained linoleum that her knees every so often bounced against painfully. On her left, Zoey’s hand clamped bruisingly around her forearm, and Bill’s did the same on her right. Together and humming an unfamiliar tune, the two of them effortlessly dragged Emma through the dimly lit halls.

She had tried begging, tried getting Zoey to come to her senses, even remembered dumb Bill’s name as they wrenched her out of the cell-like hospital room she’d been imprisoned and rotting in for the past three days. Nothing worked. Emma was beginning to come to terms with the reality that haunted her ever since the first note had come out of Paul’s mouth.

These people weren’t Zoey and Bill. These people weren’t even people. They were puppet masters, jerking around the bodies of those they infected like they were squatters in an abandoned house.

Bill released Emma’s arm as they came to a huge set of double doors. She had used up too much energy struggling to keep up as they had dragged her through the halls of the apparently renovated theater, and collapsed to the ground in a shaking, panting pile.

Bill pulled open one door, and held it open with his body as he returned his hold on Emma’s arm and pulled her into the room. She tried to delay their progress by being a deadweight in Bill and Zoey’s grips, but against their heightened strength, resist was practically useless. 

Emma’s vision was blurry. She hadn’t had water or food in the three days she’d spent locked in the hospital room, fading in and out of consciousness, preyed upon by nightmares of songs that seeped painfully into her mind and blue blood that poured from her mouth and eyes. And she dreamed of Paul. Dreamed of him so vividly that when her eyes snapped open, Emma could almost  _ feel _ his presence in the room.

That effect seemed to be haunting her. If Emma closed her eyes and tried to steady her breath, she could hear his melodic laugh in her ears, whispering for her to join him, to give in, to be his, to be the Hive’s, until she could swear his breath was against her neck and her eyes forced open to reveal a dark, empty room.

The first day was spent panicking, yelling, clawing at the door, considering any possible escape route only for every option to run dry. Hopelessness weighed in on the second. Emma watched silently as shadows slid back and forth under the crack of the door, and her lungs felt raw and her eyes sore. The third day, Emma tried over and over again to cling onto consciousness, unknowing if she would be able to come back from it as she slipped into sleep, only to be jolted awake by nightmares and voices and screams and sounds that she could have been completely imagining.

Nothing felt  _ real _ . The impossibility of the situation was a brick shoved down Emma’s throat and it dissolved into her bloodstream. She was lightheaded and dizzy. It could have been from the dehydration, but Emma felt like she was three feet away from her body at all times and there was nothing to rely upon to anchor her back.

“How do you feel, Emma?”

From her place as a pathetic, shivering, weak pile on the floor of whatever room she had been tossed into, Emma froze. Coldness doused her like a frothing wave and forced her back to some slipping sense of reality. That voice. The voice of her dreams, the voice of her nightmares, the voice of the shadows that crept behind her back and ran their long fingers down her spine.

Emma pushed herself onto her palms and felt her throat tighten.

“Paul?”

With one hazy glance around and a sinking feeling in her gut, Emma came to the sudden realization that she was in the theater room that the meteor had crashed through. The seats had been cleared, and heavy curtains now lined the walls, cracked open for a few windows that allowed moonlight to crawl into the room. At the end sat the meteor, a massive grey rock flecked with glowing blue that pulsed with energies so vibrant Emma could feel them throbbing at the base of her skull.

And in the meteor, in a makeshift seat that had been chiseled precariously into its base, sat Paul, draped elegantly in the carved-out throne. He was dressed in a tight fitting outfit, a dark blue button up that was buttoned to the collar under a black vest donning a silver baroque pattern. His black pants were tucked into long black boots and resting on Paul’s shoulders was an inky indigo cloak, that, in the dim light of the few candles mounted on the wall behind him and the moonlight that shone through the small windows in the wall, glinted silver.

Paul’s face was half-hidden by shadows, but his electric blue eyes cut through the darkness like those of a cat. A smile that gleamed with malice was pulled at his lips, and, as Paul leaned forward into the moonlight, Emma took in the sight of him.

He had gotten paler, and his milky skin reminded her of dead flesh. Despite this, there was nothing else “dead” about him. Paul’s vibrantly blue eyes burned into Emma’s skin and almost took her breath away. A dull sense of relief thudded in her bones at the sight of  _ him _ , sitting before her, but she shook it off. There was nothing welcoming in his toothy smile and narrowed gaze.

A silver band crown was fit around Paul’s head, and his brown hair fell in front of it, almost sweeping past his eyes. The sight of the crown felt like a punch to Emma’s stomach. It shone with the same blue flecks as the meteor did, like they were connected, and it gave Paul an unerringly fearsome air of raw, intense power.

“It’s good to see you. Did you enjoy your time in the hospital?”

He stood and made his way down the stage steps, Emma flinching with every sharp click of his boots against the wood. Paul’s voice was like liquid silver that sloshed through the room, somehow reverberating around and through and against Emma. Not even his voice sounded like him, it was lilted and melodic, almost soothing, even. “I’m sure you probably don’t even remember arriving at the Starlight, but I was told you came kicking and biting.” 

Emma blinked, and in an instant, Paul was squatting in front her. Words were lost like melted ice on her tongue, and a conflicting storm of emotions toiled inside of her. Hatred and fear and sadness, relief to see his face, but cold and unabashed terror accompanying it.

Paul’s smile was unwavering. He took Emma’s chin gently in his grasp, his thumb tracing along her jaw. “Did you miss me?”

Those four words seemed to snap Emma back to attention, and with a shockingly minimal amount of hesitation, she spat right in his face and made to jerk out of his hold. Paul’s grasp tightened almost painfully. He barely even flinched.

Fear hallowed out Emma’s chest and her breaths became uneven and shallow. Paul wiped the spit from his face with the back of his sleeve, maintaining cold, unbroken eye contact with Emma as he did. 

“Well that answers that. Between us, that’s no way to treat an old friend.”

“You’re not Paul,” Emma managed to force out. Her voice cracked. Paul laughed.

“You mean I’m not ‘just’ Paul.” He stood up and backed away, raising his arms dramatically and letting his cloak sweep around his ankles. “I’m new and improved Paul. Paul without the insecurities and the doubt that stopped him from asking you out all those times at the coffee shop. I’m a King here, Emma. I’m  _ the _ King. The Hive listens to me just as I listen to them. I have almost everything I could possibly want.” He ran his piercing gaze slowly up and down Emma. “Almost.” He repeated. 

A cold shiver ran down Emma’s spine and she blinked slowly. When her eyes opened again, Paul was in front of her, slowly bending down, holding a water bottle in front of him. Framed in the moonlight, he was magnificent. It almost seemed like it twisted around him, bending to the will of the Hive King as was expected of every being left on the planet. Not her. Not Emma.

“Drink.”

Despite the fact that she was absolutely not submitting to this twisted, Hive King abomination that was left of her Paul, Emma accepted the water hurriedly.

He watched as she chugged it, uncaring as it dripped down the sides of her face. “Your head has been buzzing, hasn’t it?” He whispered to her. “You’ve felt dizzy. Unattached.” Emma wiped her forearm across her mouth, glaring at Paul. He was right. He knew it, too.

“It’s not the water, Emma.” He took the bottle gently from her hands, their fingertips brushing as he did. “Follow me.” Paul stood and held his hand for Emma to take.

Ignoring his hand, Emma tried to stand up. She pulled her knees up and slowly began to rise, only to find that she trembled on her feet and began to collapse. Paul stepped forward quickly, catching her in his arms. Emma’s teeth gritted.

“I don’t need your help,” she muttered, gripping his forearms to steady herself on her feet.

“You’re weak,” was Paul’s whispered response. “Let me help.” Emma’s mouth clamped shut as Paul directed her to the curtains, one arm around her shoulders. He tugged at the thick golden robe tying them together and let the curtains fall open. Emma’s breath caught in her throat.

The sky had become home to a giant swirling vortex of charcoal grey clouds, and within them shots of blue twisted and lit the sky. A breathy gasp of combined awe and terror left Emma’s lips. Paul’s smile had only grown.

“Your dizziness and dissociation are the fault of your proximity to the spores. The Hive has taken over the world, and you’re within a few meters of its King. The meteor, me. But you’re incredibly strong, aren’t you? They thought I was the strongest to have been able to survive as long as I did; I was crowned for it, but in the end, it’s you here, with red blood coursing through your veins.” Paul raised Emma’s hand to his lips and inhaled deeply, planted a soft kiss onto her palm.

“The Hive would thrive with you as its Queen, you know. It might even need you. I need you.”

Emma pulled her hand out of Paul’s grasp, casting her sorrowful gaze out the window. Maybe the spores were infecting her more than he thought, for every inch of Emma begged to listen to Paul, to fall into his arms, to press her kiss against his mouth. But, she had already accepted the truth of this twisted version of reality.

“You’re not  _ Paul _ ,” Emma spat bitterly, ignoring the angry tears that pricked in the corners of her eyes.

He sighed, gripping the windowsill, his eyebrows furrowing. “It’s not like that. It’s not as simple as that. The longer I’m in his body, the more time I have to sift through his memories and emotions, the more connected we become. The Paul you knew was unmotivated and lazy, nervous and unwilling. Now, I’m motivated. I’m a King. I’m still him, with the goals that lay deep in his heart and the feelings he was too much of a coward to voice.”

“ _ Don’t _ call him a  _ coward _ ,” Emma hissed, whirling upon Paul and slamming her palms against his chest to push him back. His hands wrapped around her wrists, and before Emma could comprehend what was happening, he’d pushed her against the wall next to the window, her hands pinned above her head. His eyes glowed with in intense sort of electricity, and his words came out low in his throat.

“It was you, Emma.  _ You _ were the hidden source of his every desire, his every action, his every decision. Do you know how strongly that translates into what I’ve become? Such an overpowering feeling, Emma. Such an irresistible urge to infect you now, make you my Queen, be done with it.”

“Then why don’t you?” she hissed back. Paul’s impossibly bright eyes flicked rapidly around Emma’s face, searching.

“It wouldn’t be right. It would be a disservice to the version of Paul that is no longer. I’ll keep you alive until you accept me, and then you will die and be rebirthed by my hands. Do you understand? You will be my Queen, Emma. You can feel it. I can feel you wanting it.”

Emma was at a loss for words, because, in spite of everything, he was right. She wanted him. His breath so close to her face that it was driving her body wild, and his skin against hers was electrifying. But she couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

“I  _ can’t _ ,” Emma choked out, hating how much the words that she forced from her mouth sounded like a broken sob.

Paul sighed and released Emma’s hands. They dropped numbly by her sides.

“I will give you time, energy, and strength. Then, you will have me when you want me.” Paul leaned forward and pressed a light kiss to Emma’s cheek. Her heartbeat sputtered in her chest and adrenaline itched at her skin.

Paul stepped back, letting his gaze linger on hers for a moment before he turned around and snapped his fingers. The doors burst open and Zoey and Bill returned, making a beeline right towards Emma.

“Jeez, you don’t need to be so rough this time,” Emma muttered when the two of them grabbed her forearms on either side of her. They began to half-drag/half-lead Emma out of the room, and, as the door closed behind her, she caught Paul’s gaze once more, watching her steadily. His smile was gone.

~

The cloudy skies soon gave to indigo, and Emma watched out the large window in the bedroom she had been placed in as the swirling vortex became black and the shoots of blue that twisted through the clouds lit the sky like lightning.

With each bright twist of crackling blue that stretched through the sky, Emma could almost swear she could feel them twisting hotly through her veins. It was connected to her already, calling, beckoning. When Emma closed her eyes and focused on the feeling, she could hear soft notes in the back of her head, still calling, still beckoning.

Was this what it felt like to die? A slow and drawn out death that would lure her in until it was too strong to stop, until it clamped it’s jaws around her throat and Emma woke with blue eyes.

Her gaze turned downward, towards the empty pavement streets spotted with moonlight. She could end it now. Deny Paul the satisfaction of her death by his own hands, splatter red blood upon the world he’d so definitely marked as his own.

She turned towards the door, where outside of which she knew somebody was standing guard. Zoey, probably.

Or she could find him, give in now, one last final bang before she was gone for good. If there was ever a way to go, that would be it, wouldn’t it?

Emma eyed the change of clothes that had been set out on the bed. How the Hive had possibly managed to reconstruct the entire Starlight Theater to this sort of palace she would never know and was not about to question. The dressing gown laid out on the sheets seemed like heaven compared to the gross, bloodstained work outfit she’d been in for what felt like forever. And her leg still throbbed with pain. Pain that she’d almost forgotten about.

Emma’s eyebrows furrowed and she looked down at the splotchy, rust-colored bandages. She really  _ had _ forgotten about the wound. Slowly, her gaze turned towards the vortex in the sky. Was this it’s doing? Was she already healing by being slowly engulfed by blue death?

She’d made her decision.

Quickly, Emma stripped herself of the gross clothing and pulled the silver/blue dressing gown on. It was soft and silky, and Emma closed her eyes for a few moments to enjoy it’s embrace. But only for a few moments.

“Take me to him,” Emma told Zoey at the door, hugging herself tightly. Her icy gaze slid to Emma, and she stared for a moment before breaking into a large smile.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” Zoey said in a singsong tune. Emma sighed.

“Do you guys always sing? Like, is it  _ always _ singing?”

Zoey laughed at this as she led them through the maze-like Starlight, a melodic laugh that rang in Emma’s ears.

Paul’s huge double doors opened slowly when they arrived, and silvery blue light flooded from the cracked doors. Zoey moved back, nodding her head. Emma exhaled slowly and stepped into the bedroom.

The blue light seemed extravagant in his room, brighter somehow, the curtains flung wide open and the similar bay windows letting the light flood through. Paul stood in front of them, facing the window. He was without a shirt, left in his high-waisted black pants, and in the combined moonlight and the bright blue veins of the sky, he was outlined black.

The doors closed behind Emma, and she felt her heart leap to her throat.

Paul turned slowly. His shadow was long and stretched out across Emma as he faced her, his hands in his pockets and one eyebrow raised.

“Good evening.” His voice was silver velvet, low in his throat and ringing in Emma’s ears. “I was beginning to think you wouldn’t make it.”

She was unsure how to respond. A part of her, what little common sense she had left, she supposed, wanted to run. Run far. Run and hide and escape. Get as far away from here as possible. Yet still… the sight of Paul standing there with a straightened back and soft smile made her mouth run dry. She did want him. They both knew it.

Because she could not bring words to her tongue, Emma took a few slow steps forward, closing the distance between her and Paul. He watched her with an unblinking gaze.

Emma took his hands in hers, curling her fingertips against Paul’s, before she suddenly pushed onto the tips of her toes and pressed a hard kiss to his mouth. Paul inhaled sharply, surprised for a moment. Then his hands found her hips, and, as Emma’s fingers moved to his hair, he deepened the kiss.

Emma pulled back with a long exhale.

“What do you want?” Paul asked, his voice a whisper. Emma’s fingertips dug lightly into the back of his neck and she cast her gaze downward.

“What I’ve always wanted,” she said, her eyebrows furrowing. She only realized just how true the words were as they came out of her mouth. “You.”

A small frown tugged at Paul’s mouth. He took a small step back and gestured to the windows and their perfect view of the blue threaded hurricane. “Me? Or this?”

A soft sort of sadness clenched at Emma’s stomach. Paul’s skin against hers was magic. Her pain faded into an inky nothingness and the constant buzzing in her skull was silenced when his mouth had pressed against hers. She didn’t even want to know why. She was with him, that’s what mattered. But, he had a point still.

Emma blinked slowly. A grave look fell across her features. “I’m going to die anyway, right?”

Paul hummed and turned back to Emma, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You can feel it, can’t you?”

She nodded. “What’s the point of staying alive? I won’t have you. I won’t have anyone. I won’t have anything except red blood and pain.”

Paul watched her, an unnerving sort of sadness clouding in his eyes. “It’s not like you’ll be dead. It’s more like a different type of alive. A stronger alive. A better alive. And…” he cupped her jaw softly, “and I’ll be here. With you. I won’t ever leave.”

There was a soft silence between them that pulsed in the air for a few moments. Emma’s hands raised to cup Paul’s jaw, and their gazes met, lingering, watching. Paul leaned in first. Their lips met frantically.

Emma’s fingertips scraped down his chest as his hands found the tie of the dressing gown around her waist. Without breaking the kiss, Paul tugged the tie loose and pushed the robe off her shoulders, his hands immediately running up and down her ribs and waist.

Emma moaned at the feeling of his skin on hers. The paths of his fingers left trails of fire and she shuddered as he pulled her waist closer into him. Paul broke from the kiss first, panting. Emma’s breath was erratic and heavy in her chest, and she was unable to tear her gaze away from Paul’s as his fingertips dug into her waist and he slowly walked her backwards. 

His eyes glowed an unnatural color in the moonlight, cutting through the silver darkness like headlights. A few steps more, and they grew brighter. Emma felt her knees hit the back of the bed, and as she slowly sat down, her chest tightened at the morphed look on Paul’s face. He no longer watched her with soft and subtle reverence, rather, his features had hardened and his gaze had narrowed. He looked hungry. Starved, even.

“Paul,” Emma whispered, crawling backwards on the bed. He hummed in response, a kind of hum that hinted that he was too unfocused to form words, and instead, he followed her further up on the bed, his eyes trailing slowly up and down her naked body.

Emma’s hands rested against Paul’s shoulders, not pushing, but certainly trembling. He took no notice and pressed his body further down into hers, trapping her between him and the mattress. Emma inhaled shakily, trying to shove away the sharp panic that coursed in her blood. Not yet. Not now.

Paul's lips parted slowly, his gaze hyper-intense and unwavering on her mouth. As he leaned in, for a moment, Emma swore she could see flecks of glowing blue that peppered the inside of his mouth, like the flecks in the meteor. The closer he leaned in, the brighter they grew. A strange, impending sense of dread clamped it’s cold hands around Emma’s throat. Wait. Wait. Wait.

“Paul,” she said again quickly, her voice hushed with fear. He paused, and his gaze snapped towards hers. Fear twinged sharply in Emma’s chest at the look in his eyes. He looked primal, inhuman almost. “Wait,” Emma breathed, and Paul paused. He tilted his head to the side. “I want  _ you _ first,” she explained through her light pants, her chest rising and falling heavily. “Please. Not yet.”

Paul blinked slowly, and when his eyes reopened, they were dulled in color. Something like worry crossed his eyes, and his hand traced Emma’s cheek. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

She shook her head slowly, relief freeing the invisible weight on her chest. This last moment would be hers. Hers to live. Emma pushed her chin up and met Paul’s lips. They kissed slowly and deeply, Emma allowing herself to savor every moment. The taste of him on her lips, the feeling of his tongue sliding in her mouth, the soft sound of his hand gripping the sheets by her head and the low groan that rumbled in his throat.

The slow kiss grew intense, frantic, almost. The pining and the sexual tension months in the making burst forward like water spilling over the top of a dam. Paul’s kiss surged deeper, and Emma inhaled sharply at the feeling of sinking into the mattress.

His mouth kissed down to her neck, palms ghosting over her bare body. He was teasing but impatient, ruthlessly hers but so selfishly greedy in his actions. His fingertips pinched Emma’s breasts and he smiled at her soft whimper. It was only when her fingernails scraped against Paul’s skull that he broke from sucking a lilac bruise into her neck, and his mouth skimmed down her body.

It came as a sudden surprise to Emma, how the feeling of him on top of her, of his knee forcing her legs apart, of his hand gripping her thigh, of his mouth leaving a hot, wet trail across her skin in its downward descent felt so inexplicably, outstandingly  _ right _ . It was almost as if a part of Emma wanted this to feel wrong. Wanted to feel the fear of death and the guilt of the Hive King himself taking her as his own and the shame of enjoying it, but the “wrongness” was simply nowhere to be found.

She felt  _ safe _ . God, was that immoral? Was that dirty and fucked? Paul’s teeth scraping the inside of Emma’s thighs, his thumb pressing into her hip bone. Her fingers curling tightly into his hair. A moan spilled from her lips as his mouth finally moved in her, against her, her hips rolling up into his tongue, silver-blue pleasure buzzing in her blood.

The longer he drew it out, the faster his tongue moved, the addition of his fingers twisting and pressing inside of her, the more the pleasure steadily swelled within Emma, sinking in her stomach, clamping in her throat, spinning familiar cerulean galaxies behind her eyes, the louder her whimpers grew.

“ _ Paul _ ,” Emma groaned, one hand tightening in a fistful of his hair and the other digging into the sheets. In response, he nipped at the inside of her thigh, sucking what Emma was sure would be a dark bruise before returning his mouth to her dripping sex.

“You’re everything,” Paul murmured, as if he could tell Emma was getting close. Her back arched, head thrown back into the pillow. “My Queen,” he groaned. The pleasure built beneath Emma’s skin, rising so that it was almost unbearable. 

Emma came under Paul’s tongue with a breathy moan. Her body tensed and her fingernails dug so sharply into his head that Emma was sure she would have drawn blood. He moved up her body and kissed her, hard, as Emma’s taut body writhed under him, her moan stifled into his mouth.

She let out a gentle laugh as the pleasure seeped slowly from her body. Her eyes closed as she focused on the dissipating feeling, effortlessly comfortable in the heat that radiated off of Paul. 

Safe. 

Until she opened her eyes and found him atop her, a small smile turning the corner of his mouth and his eyes once again glowing the familiar electric blue.

“Oh,” was all Emma managed to say. She sat up quickly, scooting out from under him and slipping off the bed.

“Emma…” Paul murmured, his features softening as he watched her make her way to the huge windows, picking up her robe on the way and slipping it loosely around her shoulders.

He stood.

The blue lights that flit haltingly through the inky sky danced through the room, across her skin, lighting in time with the pulsing glow of Paul’s eyes. He hugged her from behind, his fingers interlocking around her chest.

“Does it hurt?” Emma asked, watching the pitch black vortex hanging in the sky, struck with blue.

“No,” Paul whispered in her ear, kissing down her shoulder.

“Is it fast?”

“In some ways.”

Emma turned around in Paul’s hold. Her arms slung around his neck, twisting the hair at his nape. The glowing eyes no longer gripped her with fear. His hands slid to her waist, under the dressing gown.

Some strange, numb understanding flickered between them. Maybe it was the effect of the Hive spores, for the pain was completely forgotten and her mind buzzed pleasantly, or maybe it was just him. Whatever the reason, when they kissed in the dancing blue lights, Emma’s body tingled with renewed excitement.

She pulled at the waistband of Paul’s pants, and his smile grew wider against her lips. “Eager,” he scolded smoothly, and Emma kissed his chest and nipped lightly at his collarbones while her hands pushed the tight black pants off of his hips.

Slowly, Paul’s hands on Emma’s waist pushed her back, and he walked her backwards until she felt her back hit the cold glass of the window.

“Really?” Emma asked with a small gasp as Paul’s head ducked down and kissed her jaw. Her head tilted back, lip pulled between her teeth, and with a low, impish snicker into the soft crook of her shoulder, Paul slid his hands beneath Emma’s waist and lifted her, pressing her into the window.

A disbelieving moan escaped Emma’s lips, but she locked her legs behind his back.

“My Queen,” Paul whispered into her skin. “My darling.  _ Mine _ .” Emma was slowly lowered down onto Paul’s dick, and she shuddered. He inhaled and exhaled deeply, pausing for a moment to let her adjust. Emma’s arms were wrapped around Paul’s shoulders, her hands spread across the back of his head and pushing his face into her neck. His breath, hot against her pulse, sent numbing waves of electricity through Emma’s veins.

Paul’s head raised, and their gazes met. His eyes still glowed with an intense sort of fervor, but the emotion Emma could detect within them was raw. He did love her, didn’t he? Paul tilted his chin up, tapping his forehead against Emma’s as he began to thrust gently inside of her. And she would be happy dead, wouldn’t she? Happy as part of the hive. Happy with Paul. His breathing was labored, his pace sped. Pleasure built up in Emma once more, and her head dropped onto Paul’s shoulder.

And he was right too, wasn’t he? Here, beneath the combined moonlight and the blue cracks in the sky, his breath hot on her skin and his moans low in her ear, he was every bit the Paul that Emma remembered. a little different, but still, undeniably, her Paul. A King in his own right, before and now. And Emma was his. A Queen. 

“Emma,” Paul murmured, and then murmured again. And then again. And again. Her name was an increasingly frantic prayer on his lips, and combined with the rippling pleasure throughout her body, Emma could have sworn that she was more than his Queen, she was divine. Powerful. Immortal. 

Emma’s name spilled from Paul’s lips until his controlled reign on his own pleasure slipped from his grasp and he toppled into silvered bliss. Emma followed, her head pressed back against the windowpane as icy hot waves of euphoria doused her body and ecstasy shot through her veins. 

She met Paul’s gaze as the orgasm ran its raging course through her. His eyes were brighter than they had been before, so blindingly intense that Emma couldn’t look away even if she tried. And she didn’t.

Paul’s mouth opened slowly, and blue light spilled from between his lips. “Are you ready?” His voice was almost disoriented in her ears, echoing as if the source was not from him, but from multiple people that Emma’s eyes could not. She nodded slowly, wordlessly, and Paul leaned forward.

Their lips met.

Emma’s eyes closed. Then they opened.

“Oh,” she whispered, almost surprised. “It’s beautiful.” 

**Author's Note:**

> PAUL MATTHEWS FUCKS
> 
> PROJAECTION stATION


End file.
